Silverymoon
| capital = | area = Luruar, Northwest Faerûn | size = | ruler = )|Taern Hornblade|(1369 DR - present)|}} | ruler1 = | ruleryear1 = | ruler2 = | ruleryear2 = | ruler3 = | ruleryear3 = | ruler4 = | ruleryear4 = | ruler5 = | ruleryear5 = | rulertype = High Mage | government = Constitutional magocratic republic | languages = | races = | religion = Mielikki, Oghma, Silvanus, Sune, and Tymora Formerly: Mystra Outlawed Cyric | currency = | reckoning = DR | population1 = 37,073 | popyear1 = 1372 | population2 = 40000 | popyear2 = | population3 = | popyear3 = | imports = Food (especially grain and livestock), armour, weapons, footwear, textiles and clothing | exports = Books, paper, herbs, inks, glass, glassware, furs, timber, valuable ores | alignment = | allegiance = | usethe = | useon = | inhabitants = yes | locations = yes | organizations = yes | settlements = }} Silverymoon is the prime signatory state of the Confederation of the Silver Marches and therefore, viewed by many as the capital. It has been ruled for centuries by High Lady Alustriel Silverhand, a powerful wizard and one of the Seven Sisters, some of the most powerful individuals on Faerûn and also Chosen of Mystra, the goddess of magic. Recently, Alustriel stepped down, paving the way for her trusted advisor Taern "Thunderspell" Hornblade to ascend to the city's supreme office. She is now the leader of the entire confederation. Silverymoon is often dubbed "the Gem of the North", for it resembles and emulates the lost elven city of Myth Drannor in many respects. It is one of the few civilized places in the middle of the rough and untamed wilderness that is the North of Faerûn. It has a rich cultural life and is renowned as a meeting place for all races that are morally inclined towards good. Even the occasional drow with good intentions (most notably the famous ranger Drizzt Do'Urden) can eventually find hospitality in the city of Silverymoon. Silverymoon is also famous for its pervading tradition of magic, and is home to many notable wizards, sorcerers and other mages. One of its permanent structures, the Moonbridge, was created by magic. Trade & Trade Routes Silverymoon mints its own coin, the moon. It is valued at 2gp and is accepted throughout the Silver Marches. Travel Distances from Silverymoon * To Everlund - 50 miles * To Nesme - 165 miles (by barge, downstream at 2 miles per hour) * To Sundabar - 165 miles on the Silverymoon to Sundabar (Road) * To Waterdeep - 600 miles (via the Evermoor Way and the Long Road) * To Yartar - 375 miles (by barge, downstream at 2 miles per hour) * To Yartar - 320 miles (via the Evermoor Way) Defences The fighting force that protects Silverymoon is comprised of the famed Knights in Silver, currently led by a paladin named Sernius Alathar. There is also the Spellguard, an order of, primarily, wizards and sorcerers led by the half-elven wizard Jorus Azuremantle. The High Marshal of the Argent Legion, the army of the Confederation of the Silver Marches (comprised of soldiers from every signatory of the confederation) also resides in Silverymoon. The current High Marshal is a half-elf fighter/wizard by the name of Methrammar Aerasumé. Knights in Silver Named by the adventurer and bard, Mintiper Moonsilver, the Knights in Silver have slowly earned their reputation as a noble and chivalrous fighting force. Although they are often found protecting the walls of Silverymoon many times they are roaming the countryside around the city in a 50-mile radius with a member of the Spellguard. In 1372 DR, recruitment was overseen by Recruiting Master Mazillor Shatterstave, who scruitinised each potential applicant for suitibility among their ranks. Under Mazillor's watch the Knights in Silver had risen to 704 members. Spellguard The Spellguard were established in 1255 DR as a personal bodyguard for Alustriel herself but over the intervening years have grown to city-wide force, spreading their duties between the High Palace and the rest of Silverymoon. By 1372 DR the spellguard numbered 32 members, 7 of which were Warders that oversaw the activities of the rest. History ]] Silverymoon became a city in Uktar 637 DR, when a stone wall was built around it for the first time and the first ruler of Silverymoon, High Mage Ecamane Truesilver, was elected. Prior to that it was mainly a village of wooden buildings named Silver Village. It was built at a location considered sacred to the patron deity of rangers, Mielikki, and the unicorn goddess Lurue. Since that time the settlers sought to work with nature rather than against it, a decision that is said to have compelled the aforementioned deities to bless the site. Ecamane Truesilver was instrumental in setting the foundation to the city's enduring (and totally justified) fame of a center of lore and knowledge throughout the North (often called "Myth Drannor of the North", as it is an echo of the legendary capital of the Elven Court). Truesilver founded a library and subsequent rulers of the city pursued artistic endeavors and further consolidated Silverymoon as a place where art, culture, lore, and magic are highly valued. When Myth Drannor fell in 714 DR, some prominent scholars found shelter in the city, but they were followed by the demons that destroyed their home. The then reigning High Mage, Aglanthol the Red, perished in the ensuing fight in 719 DR. His successor, Ederan Nharimlur, by contrast, reigned for many years in peace. It was in his reign that the city almost doubled in size. Upon Ederan's death in 784 DR, his daughter Amaara Nharimlur became the High Mage of Silverymoon. In 815 DR, Elué Dualen arrived in the city and befriended Amaara and her sister Lynx. In 821 DR, Elué and Lynx established the Lady's College, the first open school for mages in Silverymoon to take students, not apprentices, and as payment for tutelage required an equal amount of time of service in defense of the city. In 843 DR Elué and other wizards created the Moonbridge, the city's most famous landmark along with the wards of Silverymoon. Eventually Elué became High Mage in 857 DR after Amaara left for Evermeet. Elué left the post in 876 DR with Lynx. ]] The succession of High Mages was disrupted in 876 DR, when the warlord Lashtor, then commander of the city's army, took the city by force, destroying many important buildings and killing many wizards in the process. He could not remain in power for more than a year, however, as he was deposed by Tanalanthara Mytersaal, a mage also known as Lady Wolf. Lady Wolf sacrificed herself in 882 DR while fending off a horde of orcs. Another disaster that befell Silverymoon was a plague in the year 1150 DR. nearly half the city's inhabitants perished because of it. The first time that an enemy broke through the walls inside the city, though, was in 1235 DR, when the commander of the army, Khallos Shieldsunder, forcibly gained control of the city while under siege by an orc horde. The orcs, as has been stated, managed to enter the city, but the combined forces of the elves and the Harpers led by Alustriel Silverhand and her sister Storm Silverhand successfully repelled the attack. ]] Alustriel subsequently became the city's only ruler to have been unanimously chosen by the people, and the only one to have reigned for so long. Alustriel's reign was a blessing to the people of Silverymoon. Alustriel's reign officially ended in 1369 DR, when she stepped down, passing the city's supreme office to her trusted advisor Taern "Thunderspell" Hornblade. She assumed the title of High Lady of the Silver Marches in 1371 DR (the year the confederation was born) and is now the leading figure of authority in the new-found confederation. Enemies of Silverymoon Silverymoon is the leading city of the Confederation of the Silver Marches. The confederation is new and some difficulties exist when cooperation is needed. It is a common belief, though, that the cities in the region will fall to the many enemies that surround them unless they manage to somehow unite and fight together. That is exactly what Alustriel had in mind when she was working towards the creation of the confederation, and to this day she and the city of Silverymoon are the force that holds the confederation together. Silverymoon remains allied with other cities in the North, like Waterdeep and Neverwinter, but also has many enemies. The Arcane Brotherhood, a small group of wizards and sorcerers based in (and controlling) the port city of Luskan and whose ultimate goal is to rule the North of Faerûn. In fact, the Silver Marches (and therefore Silverymoon) are considered by the leaders of the brotherhood as its main target in their quest for domination. The Shadovar, the inhabitants of the Netherese floating City of Shade that recently returned to Faerûn (specifically, over the Anauroch desert), have not yet made a move against Silverymoon, being too busy cleaning their territory of their mortal enemies, the Phaerimm. However, it is unknown what course of action the shadow wizards will choose to follow in the future. They may turn against the Silver Marches, or, being totally unpredictable, they may seek to cultivate stable diplomatic relations in order to gain more time to consolidate their position as a political entity in the North. In any case, the authorities of Silverymoon consider the Shades as potential enemies. Other cities set aside, there is the ever-present danger of yet another orc horde, this time much more deadly, for it will be led by a capable orc warlord, King Obould Many-Arrows. He is unlike the typical orc in that he carefully and methodically plans his conquests and slowly works his way towards fulfilling his goals. One needs not look far to find enemies of Silverymoon; enemies can also be found within the Silver Marches. The People of the Black Blood are a loose organization of many small tribes of Malar-worshipping lycanthropes that dwell in or around the Moonwood. Although they are in constant conflict with the folk of the Silver Marches, they are not organized enough to pose a significant threat to the existence of the city of Silverymoon and the confederation. Last but not least, enemies also lurk in the depths of Toril, the Underdark. Recently an army of drow elves from the city of Menzoberranzan laid siege to Mithral Hall, a dwarven stronghold under the leadership of king Bruenor Battlehammer, and were driven back only with the combined efforts of Mithral Hall and Silverymoon and the fact that the attacking drow failed to make provisions for the sunrise that would eventually come if the battle lasted long enough (as was the case). Plans are also made (albeit reluctantly) to resettle and fortify the abandoned svirfneblin city of Blingdenstone, which was destroyed by the drow and their conjured demons some years earlier as punishment for fighting on the dwarves' side in the battle of Mithral Hall. Politics in Silverymoon When Alustriel was still in power, the politics of the city flowed smoothly. Legal disputes were delegated over in the morning with spare time left for private appointments with those who request them. In the evening, she declared any new laws or decrees, met with foreign delegations and oversaw policy debates. If these debates went on for too long, she would ask that the arguments be submitted to her in written form and then these would be copied and distributed freely to the citizenry. The public would themselves argue about the matter and then their written opinions were collected the next day and, guided by her own experience, Alustriel would cobble together the final policy. Since Alustriel stepped down as ruler of the city the political process has not been well documented, though it is assumed things work in a similar way. Religion in Silverymoon Cyric The church of Cyric is outlawed in Silverymoon. Notable inhabitants * Alustriel Silverhand * Methrammar Aerasumé * Taern Hornblade * Fret Notable locations * Arkhen's Invocatorium * The Moonbridge * Everdusk Hall * Lady's College * Vault of Sages Inns and taverns * Bright Blade Brandished * Dancing Goat * Golden Oak Inn & Temple to Shiallia * Inn of the Wayward Sages Temples * The Halls of Inspiration * The House Invincible * Mielikki's Glade * Rhyester's Matin * The Temple of Silver Stars Notable organizations * Knights in Silver * Spellguard My Slice of Silverymoon By Chesmyr Morrowynd A stringer of harps, I am. A maker of strings, to speak brighter truth. Neither these fine metal wires nor the magical strangenesses some elves deal in, but the old ways. Out in the backlands, I hunt and trap the long days away, gathering not mere meat and hide, but the mane hair of rothé and wild horses, and the gut of wyverns and firedrakes, to make the finest strings this side of magically enhanced. I carve the best wyvernbone flutes, too, bar none. So, given that grandly stated personal greatness, why've you not heard of me? Well, I'm not one for cities -- all stink and crowding and noise and unpleasantness and thieves, with so many grasping folk penned up together like hogs in a slaughter-stall. Not for me. I walk with my shadow and stay happy. But Silverymoon, now . . . aye, the Great Silver Hearth is different. There I go gladly, to see the sights and the folk and know I'm not alone in my love of music and beauty, and not the only beast who thinks kind thoughts in this cold, clawing land of rocks and endless trees and whistling wind. Let me take you to my Silverymoon. Not the grand halls and towers and shining-armored guards you hear of from others, mind. I'll tell you of the little lanes I walk, and the folk I know, and what it all smells and looks like, and the tales they tell. Like most wilder-folk, I've my favorite places, and also whole streets I never go near, so others may tell different of the Gem of the North. What I spit your way is my little slice of this great city. Hunters' Gate We begin where I always do: slipping in through Hunters' Gate, with a nod to the guards who know me and a patient pause before the "Watchful Post" they flank. This Post is no more than a little wooden booth holding a duty mage who peers through a gem of seeing to make sure all who enter are as they appear to be. No darting or running here, for she has a wand of hold person and who knows what else besides -- and the guards are veteran Knights in Silver, and most of them can run and hurl blades swift and sure, not like your sweating sourbellies of Athkatla and suchlike, who growl and wave halberds but can't run down anything faster than a hurrying slug. Afoot, there's no fee for entry into Silverymoon, and you won't see one for citizens known to the guards who ride, or who have but one cart or coach. A wagon, now, is 1 cp empty (of all but empty containers, tarps, and lashings) and 4 cp laden (no matter how little is carried within), and a mounted, coach-carried, or aboard-a-cart visitor is 1 cp/head. If you dismount well out of sight of the gates and lead a pack beast in, your entry will be free -- but not if the guards can see a saddle under all the satchels and lashings you've artfully arranged atop old Thunderhoof. Trying to fox the guards into thinking you're Silvaeren true? Well, be sure to call this northern entry "Bow Gate," as in arrow, or if you're really trying to pose as old Silvaeren blood, 'tis "Bucksword's Gate," after the adventurer who died holding the gate's shattered mouth against forty orcs one frigid night some sixty winters back. Or so the tale goes. Beware, though: The guards see many folk trying to slip into the Market with goods to sell and are watching for false "citizens" or folk who leave their friends and a wagon out in the woods and trudge back and forth through various gates bringing a sack of wares at a time. Pay the "point" (as a copper's called, hereabouts; a silver's a "brighthead" and a gold piece is a "glimmer" or "a little sun" if you're feeling all formal and bardic -- and I hear Southbank and the grand folk who dwell east of the Market have their own prettier names for coins, too) and just get inside without any bother. You can dispute having to pay your way if you really are a citizen and not bringing a conveyance in, but be warned: The guards will hold you until a second mage can be brought to peer into your mind . . . and do you really want that? No secrets at all that you mind all Faerûn knowing? If so, you must be fair on your way to being a god, or perhaps the gods owe you money -- and either way, you don't need to be wasting your time listening to me! All the rest of us, however, would be far wiser to just give over a coin, send a gentle jest with it for good measure, and stroll oh-so-nonchalantly away. . . . What Makes the Wagons Groan Another thing: Any roundskull can think of outlander wagons bringing food and goods from afar into the Market in the snow-free months, but how many of you have ever watched wagons at any city gate and seen their traffic cycles? Well, at Hunters' Gate, think on this: Wagons come in not just from afar, but also from nearer. Those from the forests bring in cured hides, furs, and three sorts of wood: firewood, building lumber, and carving wood. They take back fancy-goods, tools, knives, clothing, maps, wagon wheels, sledge runners, and harness. Those from the farms bring in hay, greens, and table vegetables -- and take back dung, harness, clothes, and sometimes laundry. Some trade-wagons for the Marches north and east bring bars of workable metal, gems, and sometimes coal to Silverymoon, and they take back all manner of worked goods from the crafters of the city and from outlander merchants who came to Market. Oh, and if you're too old, infirm, or weak to ride or walk and swing swords to defend yourself, all of these wagons'll take you as a passenger, too -- bounced and slung along none too gently, and for stiff fees. Even to Quaervarr or Everlund, the fare's typically 2-4 gold coins, depending on your ability to bargain (and a minimum of 4-8 if you've a chest or satchel you need help with). Hollowhar Once inside the gate, I turn sharp west, not right along the inside of the wall where the dung-carts groan and the Knights in Silver ride, but up the narrow cobbled lane that runs southwest from the Westwatch. More properly, it's called Westwatch Tower; that's the westernmost of the two gate-towers. It's the one that has all those green-and-gold banners hung from it to hide the guards' washing, that hangs behind. (And why hide trews? Perhaps 'tis that a lot of them tall-jawed, grim warriors like to wear silken underthings, though it might be they've a care for modesty and discretion. I've never asked.) If you must know, the banners commemorate battles -- and why they remember some and not others is one of the great mysteries of Silverymoon. Top to bottom, oldest to newest, the battles are as follows: Splitskulls (a winter fray against the Granitefang orcs) in 614 DR; the Field of Fire (a rout of the same orcs thanks to old Truesilver's spells) in 628 DR; Thadanthiir's Bridge (wherein the orcs invaded the city itself but were turned back) in 631 DR; Brokenfang (a great victory over the orcs) in 634 DR; Wolfdown (Lady Wolf's defeat of an orc horde) in 882 DR; Tumbleskulls (whereat High Lady Alustriel's Harpers helped us defeat another orc horde) in 1235 DR; Walking Bones (defeat of an attacking undead host) in 1272 DR; and Moonlights' Triumph (the heroic lay-down-their-lives defeat of an orc horde by the Moonlight Men mercenaries) in 1343 DR. Back to that lane I was telling you about. 'Tis called Nutting Lane, and it runs not far: around a gentle curve to an end-moot with a larger, busier cross-ways, Lavarpard Street, that's been thickly planted with the soft, moss-like tough grass known as haethindel, or some such. Nothing wears it away, and 'tis like the softest silks underfoot. Yes, you can eat it, but . . . ho, bitter! As bitter as an orc's kiss in a sleet storm! (Urrhmph. Don't ask.) Ah, but I can speak prettily myself when the fancy takes me: Nutting Lane's short, curving career sees the even shorter Druinwood Way branch off it, to westward (to curve its own way back north and west, to the Wallrun). Nutting and Druinwood are the heart of my slice of Silverymoon -- a little corner of the city called "Hollowhar" for reasons I've never known for certain, but which probably have to do with an early family who settled and built here, only to vanish long ago and leave only their name behind. More of an achievement than many can claim, I suppose. So here we stand. Not a glamorous corner of the Gem of the North, mind, but a useful one. A Glance Farther I know Hollowhar best, and that's all I'll wag my tongue about here. I can say that the next neighborhood (south of Lavarpard) is known locally as Falconturret, after a distinctive mansion once owned by a falconer. He's long in his grave, but the place still stands. I'm not talking official names on maps, mind, or anything larger than a few streets -- streets that in Falconturret today house jugglers, bards, scribes, guides, and adventurers-for-hire. The best dry-vaults in the city (because they're farthest from the Rauvin's flooding reach) are east of Hollowhar, across "the Draw" (the northern throat of the Market, running from Hunters' Gate and widening to the real chaos of stalls and pens closer to the river). Those granary-cellars are dug out of solid stone and are the well-guarded backbone of the city, holding food enough to see us all through a harsh winter and a cropless summer to follow. The rest of us must make do with less grand vaults. Hard west of Hollowhar stands the oldest and most ramshackle warehouse district of Silverymoon. Though it has its cellars, all are crowned by huge old storage sheds made of stone at street level, giving way to wood higher up. Some of those barns were built around the remnants of old towered mansions, which can still be seen thrusting out of the corners. These few streets are known as Timbervaults, for obvious reasons. Though most of the warehouses still serve for storage, increasingly they're being converted to carriage sheds, where wagons for Silvaeren who dwell elsewhere in the city are stored and repaired and repainted. There are also at least two shops I know of in Timbervaults: a glassblower and a silversmith. So those're the neighbors beyond, and all I'll say about them. A Hiding Hole Oh, one more thing about the streets of Hollowhar: Some smuggler or other long ago built a hiding-place right into them at the waymoot of Nutting and Druinwood. You've seen the north-pointing arrows that adorn the cistern-covers at every waymoot in Silverymoon, yes? Well, the large flagstone directly west (along Druinwood) from the one at that waymoot can be turned just a little counter-clockwise, to expose a tiny hollow under its edge that lets your fingers in. Lift the stone, and you'll be looking into the inside of a buried, cracked earthen vessel about the size of a "smallkeg" set on end: about as deep as the easy stretch of a man's arm, and about as wide across as his chest. Sometimes there're cryptic messages in there, scratched on flat stones; sometimes I've found daggers therein with someone's blood still on the blade . . . and sometimes other things I'll say no more about. Local whispers say it was once found filled up with freshly-severed heads! All Hollowhar and most of the Rods this side of the city know of this "hiding hole," but at least two score folk (and mayhap many more) know all about how to find and open it. If truly private stowage is what you're after, best buy a cellar, and search for the little movable "hidestones" in the walls of most of them. The cavities behind some of those can (and have) held good-sized corpses. Downcellars Hollowhar is a working neighborhood, where visitors who come to the Market can, for a few coins, stable beasts or store wares down in the cellars of the old, closely-huddled houses. Nearly all of these byres are stone-lined and plentifully equipped with rushes underfoot, high overhead racks of hay for the beasts (wherein many things can be swiftly hidden from unwanted eyes, mind), and water-troughs filled down long gurgle-pipes from roof rain-cisterns in all but the months of ice. Most of these cellars are sunk a good 6 feet down from the street and are reached down wooden crossbar-shod-against-slipping ramps. Arched windows (usually open gaps that can be closed off with shutters in harsh weather, but lack glass panes) in the upper cellar walls open directly into the street at boot-to-knee level. Low-Res Version (103k) | Hi-Res Version (823k) At any time of day or night such places are guarded by armed cellar-guards (often sons or lackcoin kin of the owners of the buildings above), each of whom passes time talking and gambling with a friendly cluster of "lantern lasses" (fetch-and-carry boys or girls, who, for a copper, can lead outlanders through the streets to desired destinations). Try to rob such a place, and the younglings'll scatter and call for "the Rods," at about the same time as all the cellar-guards around blow their horns for the same reason. The Rods Now, the Rods are new to Silverymoon, but they are also old and familiar. That is, there've been watch patrols for as long as I've been breathing, but the nickname "Rods" (given to them for the black metal skull-crushing short-staves they bear, that are tipped at both ends with little candle-cages that can be lit to make torches that give poor light but can also scorch writings onto walls and cobbles -- or burn some drunkard's face or hair right proper, too) is new, and so is the composition of these patrols. Expect to see six or seven leather-clad, armed men (there're a few maids, but mostly the Rods are men) who wear gorgets and bracers stamped with a simplified silver moon badge of the city (and that bear some sort of enchantment, mind, that lets them be traced from afar by Spellguard mages; I'm told they glow a faint but pretty blue when such magic is awake). There's stiff justice (imprisonment and mind-reading by one of those wizards, plus at least a lashing, and probably more justice, if he finds something ill in your intent or doings while rummaging around in your memories) for stealing Rods weaponry or regalia, or impersonating a Rod. Each patrol is led by a Knight in Silver and always includes at least one other Knight; if they want to impress, are in a bad mood, or are in the throes of a personal laundry shortage, they'll be in full armor. With them will be a few militia "jacks" in training, and probably some "oldswords" (wounded or down-on-their-luck adventurers who've hired on for the coins -- and passed regular sessions of Spellguard mind-reading). If a patrol goes out expecting trouble, a Spellguard mage or even two may also come along, with perhaps another two to four swift lads who can climb and run and scramble. If you've got the idea by now that Silverymoon is a place that sees little trouble because only fools try to start any, you've been listening and I've been saying some of the right things. Want to be bad? Abuse folks in the college, guild, or whatever you belong to, behind closed doors where the Rods won't be called. An outlander in a hurry to taste trouble? Attend a revel, wait for folk to get drunk, and then get up to tricks. Fortunately for folk like me, the highnoses and lowgowns who throw revels don't dwell in Hollowhar -- or visit it at all, unless they're up to some whisper-secrets game or other. Whisper-Secrets Games Ah, yes, every outlander asks what that naming means. Whisper-secrets -- some are elaborate pranks, some are initiations, some are swindles of rich and gullible merchants, and some are lovers' trysts. You see, Silvaeren are by and large clever, learned folk -- and if they're not gripped by crafting things or songs or new ideas to set Faerûn afire (literally, in some cases!), they grow bored. So some of them devise games that consist of what Waterdhavians might scornfully call "scavenger hunts," or "find the masked fox" or "follow the cryptic clues" across the city -- and sometimes the little riddles and fanciful descriptions lead or mislead players in such games into Hollowhar. Not often, but frequently enough that I've grown used to seeing masked lasses climbing past my window on warm starry nights, or mistakenly whispering catch-phrases and passwords to me in the dark. Sometimes, of course, I play along; you've no idea what fun it can be to misdirect a dozen wealthy young things of an evening, and watch them all blunder into each other or into accosting the wrong (and quite bewildered) outlander or self-important merchant. I'd say more, but then I'd be forced to claim the Red-Eyed Eel from you, or warn you that the Black Lady Passes, or that Four Candles Burn . . . and I'd hate to see you get that bewildered look or run to the Rods or a Spellguard mage with dire warnings that'll only bring us both headaches. The Houses Above the cellars, most houses in Hollowhar have a balcony room that holds a shop, and two or three floors of dwelling-space above that. This is a neighborhood of carvers, who from bone, beast-tooth, or wood fashion the harps, tool and knife handles, combs, flutes, bowls, hand-coffers, gaming boards and pieces, and hundreds of other little things that folk who love beauty like to see adorned. Some merchant societies in Amn and Tethyr even come here to have little trade-tokens carved for them (whimsies in gemstones or shell that they can use privately to mean "you owe me three castles or six ships or seven hundred thousand gold pieces" or whatever). I've seen their agents come skulking, all in silks and bristling with blades and enchanted weapons and menacing glares, to pick up the finished orders from the complicated little locked hiding-places most carvers arrange in their dwellings to frustrate thieves. Carvers seldom hang out signboards, advertise where they live, or invite clients into their homes. More often, clients come to the local "shraehouses" (places that would be called taverns if they were larger) and ask for them, and local lantern lasses go and fetch whoever's asked for, or whoever else they think will do if the one asked for isn't to be found. Carvers' business is most often done over flagons in the shraehouses. So the carvers live above -- with the exception of Vrelda's and the Hawkroost, of which more anon -- and the shops bustle below. The Balcony Shops The storefront balconies typically thrust out over the street some 6 to 9 feet and are festooned with awnings, windows that can be propped open to let air in, and an abundance of herbs and beautiful trailing floral plants that hang down and perfume the street. Small, curving staircases carved with delightful dragon-head, fanciful "never-goyles" (that is, grotesquely cute gargoyle-like creatures one will never see in nature), and flowing, spindle-spired banisters link the street with the shops; larger and plainer rear stairs ascend from the cellars to all levels of the building above. Tasteful signboards (the local fashion is to elaborately-intertwined, elven-style flowing lettering, all curves and curlicues and cutouts that seem to have flowed naturally rather than being carved and smoothed) adorn most shops, often hanging down on chains among the greenery rather than jutting boldly forth from the balconies, as is the custom in most other cities. In general, shops in Silverymoon are cramped and cozy -- even the large ones are so crammed with wares that quarters are close. And yet when space is needed (fitting and "promenade before mirrors" rooms in the establishments of those who sell fine gowns to highcoin ladies, for instance), ample space will be provided. Shops tend to be airy, with dappled shade where possible and with the endless trill of running water. ("Pipefall" sculptures that bring roof-cistern water down through metal, glass, or wood tubing to make pleasant sounds and plays of light are common.) Not for me the "grand flash" of the brightest, largest, newest, and most expensive Southbank or shadow-of-the-Palace shops, but let me tell you of my favorites of the more modest establishments of Hollowhar. Filling Your Belly Naturally I'd start by telling you where to get fed in Hollowhar, but it strikes me that I'd better say a few words about what Silvaeren eat, first. The flippant answer is, of course, everything -- and that's true, if you've coins enough. Fruit can be scarce in winter and spring, of course, and much of what can be had is pickled or candied, but the Gem of the North can please all palates. But as for us simpler folk, trying to make our coppers stretch, we tend to make do with daily meals built around larger or smaller portions of a soup or stew, fish or meat, bread, and drink. The most popular local soups are onion-and-cheese; mushroom-and-wine; peppery leek-and-potato; and rabbit-and-leek, whereas stews are built around potatoes plus meat bones and leavings. (Peppered mutton and venison are probably the most popular.) The fish is apt to be cold spiced eel or eel pie, or stuffed river crab. The meat will be coney, or roast rothé, or some preparation of dove or duck. Among the wealthy, Silverymoon is known for its sugared breads and its golden yellow "egg-bread," but for the likes of me 'tis "black bread" all the way: small, round "hardloaves" of rich dark nutbread that fit in the hand. When "working" Silvaeren drink, they down tall, slender, lidded tankards of blackroot beer or spiced "moon wine." This last is nothing like the "moonwine" famed elsewhere, but rather is a spiced local blending of dregs of this and that, plus juniper and other forest berries, fermented in local cellars. As you might well guess, it varies much in taste and desirability from keg to keg. Any shraehouse can provide all the workaday provender I've just listed, plus a variety of teas and imported drinkables, a few handwheels of cheese, and pickled wild onions or sometimes skewers of pickled olives imported from the Sword Coast South. The best houses run to real mouth-watering menus, but Hollowhar has only one such bright spot: Swordsfall House. Swordsfall House On the east side of Nutting Lane facing the mouth of Druinwood stands the grandest shraehouse of Hollowhar. Its cellars were long ago enclosed to make a lower level of kitchens, pantries, and jakes (separate and quite lavish "jack" and "maid" privies, with piped water and large sinks), so from the street you'll see elegantly paneled wooden walls between stone columns (at the corners and evenly spaced along both side walls) carved into the shapes of smiling elven maidens. Hmm; those must be rather cold smiles, considering the light sheets they're draped in and how cold it gets of winter nights hereabouts. Those curvaceous pillars hold up a wide weather-awning planted with lush mosses and overhung with tiered stone planter-bowls (usually full of herbs and vine-flowers) jutting out from the walls above, where two floors of folk who must be rather hard of hearing live. I suspect most of the staff of the place are among them and are used to all the din of cooking and serving and patrons arriving and chatting at all hours. People come from many parts of the city for the food here, though it's not a palatial dining lounge like many in Silverymoon, nor large enough for all who'd like to crowd inside. A fair number of patrons dine here and then stroll over to the two more modest Hollowhar shraehouses, or ones nearer their homes, to talk and drink the rest of the night away. I usually meet the harpmasters who buy my strings here, though their shops are in grander parts of the city; thanks to the food and the fair prices (you can easily spend seven times as much for similar fare, elsewhere in Silverymoon), they don't mind the walk. If you happen to be after smaller, less outrageously-priced harps than most folk favor, I can heartily recommend my own clients: Altymo Phaernphar (Phaernphar's Fine Harps, Northbank, Candlestar Lane), Arilyn Dathlue (Heartsong Harps, Northbank, Goblinwood Rise), and Markovel Stonestorm (Stonestorm's Harpery, Southbank, Mrellow Lane). Most shraehouses are crowded places with drinks ledges all around the walls. Drinkers cram the flagstone floor, and a central bar juts from the keg room wall and dispenses lots of wine, almost as much beer, stronger drinks, and hot broth and soup in the coldest months. Swordsfall is like that, but with the addition of four long "common tables" for diners, and twice the usual floor room to accommodate them. Seating is on benches attached to the tables underfoot, service is spartan, and the place tends to be dimly-lit, not to say dark. Open at all hours, Swordsfall is reached by going up a broad, well-worn stair behind a street-level arch. The staircase ascends only a little way before it reaches a stout wooden door (enhanced with magic, too, I'm told) whose handle is fashioned of two swords whose broken-off blades were blunted and welded together, so that two ornamental sword hilts are at top and bottom of a broad, flat metal bar that stands out from the wood of the door. Inside, 'tis always crowded, and no wonder. Master Jarvalar Buckman and four kindly, middle-aged ladies named Alyth, Cathla, Ilmaeri, and Ninrae dispense food and drink (the latter always by the tankard, for prices in the 2 cp to 6 gp range, depending on quality). Meals run from 2 sp (for "low meals") to 6 sp (for "high meals") per serving-platter (a soup or broth comes in a bowl placed on a platter with garnishes). Typical garnishes include honeyed figs, roasted almonds, pickled lemons and quince, biscuits spread with garlic or nut butter, and fruit tarts or "savories" (tarts filled with minced cooked dove or coney, mixed with lime or berry sauce). Low meals include all soups and broths (the Swordsfall specializes in venison-and-mushroom broth), duck livers, thaevor potatoes (thaevor is a strong yellow local cheese), mushrooms in cream, spicy lamb sausage, and wine-marinated pears and Calishite tammar.1 High meals are usually platters of wood turtle, plucked roast dove, and "firespiced" (seared) rothé steaks, but on rarer nights a patron might enjoy boar with sliced apples, rabbit in zzar, duck in berry dressing, roast duck with chestnuts, whole quail skewered and cooked in butter, diced poultry (fried in garlic, nuts, and ginger), or river clams (steamed in a rich fish stock with onion, sarsae -- the tough-skinned, hardy tomato-like savory fruit of the North -- and herbs). The price of a high meal always includes a "side" of thin-sliced cheese and fruit, and a small cordial (zzar or a fruit brandy) to "clear the throat" after the main repast. Ed's Notes 1 Something like tangerines or clementines, but with a red 'peel' or inedible skin. Thaevor Potatoes During a recent night of emptying bottles and trading coziness with Ninrae, she showed me how to make thaevor potatoes (which is what she was supposed to be doing whilst she was really entertaining me) . . . so here 'tis. Peel eight potatoes, and slice thin. Then take you a pound of mushrooms of all edible sorts, and slice them thin, then do the same to two shallots and to sprigs of parsley and basil. Toss these four things all together. Grind a generous handful of pepper, grate yourself a cup of thaevor,1 and procure a cup of cream. Also take a lick of butter. Smear that butter around the inside of a deep cooking-pan -- the sort one can cover and bake on racks over a coals-fire.2 Spread a layer of potato, then one of the mushroom toss, then grated thaevor, then pepper and cream. Repeat; there should be enough for three layers in all. Then bake over a steady bed of coals until done.3 Ammarlath's Boot Ammarlath Stoneshar is a kindly old sack of wrinkles, but her shraehouse pales when compared to the superb Swordsfall. It's a place for drinks, thick pipe smoke, and a minimum of food. (Smoked fish on frybread or warmed spinach tarts is about it.) It's very dingy, usually crowded (with folk who couldn't get into Swordsfall), and spartan, with no fancy drinkables and prices flat at 2 sp/all beers, 2 sp/broths and zzar, 3 sp/all wines. Seek the overhanging boot signboard dangling from the balcony of the second building on the north side of Lavarpard east of its waymoot with Nutting Lane. Ammarlath's a good listener and will happily talk troubles and gossip with any patron, but beware: Her dumpy build is largely solid muscle, she can throw a skillet with deadly accuracy and doesn't mind wasting a sizzling fry of contents to fell a thief, and she knows her herbs and concoctions, and has been known to serve drinks that bring swift slumber to unruly patrons -- and to those she's been paid a fee to send early to their dreams. A onetime drover and adventurer in the North, she'll occasionally sell secrets (things she knows about city folk and directions to wilderland features in the lands north of Sundabar, as far as the northern Cold Wood, including a few words about Tulrun). Suldanseir's Not my sort of shraehouse. This place is noisy, crowded, run by the young for the young, and is a house where folk talk too loudly and to impress. I couldn't tell you the names of all the long-haired, swaggering, "I'm a dangerous blade so watch out" staff, but if it's swift and cheap drinks you want, or a brawl, this is the place. The only food to be had is "black" (blood and organ meats) sausages, spiced so hot as to force folk to slake their throats with more drink after eating. Otherwise, prices, consumables, and conditions are much the same as Ammarlath's. An evening lass who was in truth a bludgeon-and-rob doppelganger worked Suldanseir's for almost a season before being discovered and slain. Seek the signboard with the name aglow (a minor magic effect) above a dangling "fall" of strung crystals, on the east side balcony of the second building west of the gateside (northern) mouth of Nutting Lane. It has two staircases, at either end of the balcony; both are apt to be crowded with boldly hopeful escorts after dusk. Dark My Hand, But Sparkling This is perhaps the brightest and most glittering storefront balcony in Hollowhar, and 'tis impossible to miss: It looks north up Nutting Lane from the south side of Lavarpard, squarely in line with the waymoot. "The Dark Hand" is what's known in the Sword Coast North as a "gem gaudy" shop: It sells cheap "glitter jewelry," mirrors, plumes of dyed feathers mounted for tiara wear, and so on. In this case, the "and so on" is a small array of costumes and disguises that'll fit most humans and half-elves without alteration. The proprietor, Raugaere Willowynd, is a limping old adventurer possessed of the ruins of good looks, much sarcasm, and eyes that miss nothing and never forget a face. He has a good reason for his wariness: He's a former fence of stolen goods (hence the shop name), and some say the word "former" is a falsehood. Certainly Raugaere turns away petty thieves nowadays, but he does buy secondhand gaudy jewelry and clothing that can serve to be resold as costumes without any awkward questions -- and he also receives regular "we're keeping an eye on you" visits from the Rods. There are rumors that Raugaere knows the Lady Alustriel well, from past dealings -- and that old Thunderspell knows him all too well as a result. In recent years, Raugaere has taken to making painted wax masks and half-masks that make the wearer look like a nondescript human . . . a different nondescript human than they normally appear to be, that is. They don't last long, but as several Knights in Silver have been overheard to say grimly, as they investigate crimes in the city, "They last long enough." Malaver's Blade This establishment is tucked away behind a closed and barred door (with a peephole that Malaver peers out when would-be clients ring his door-gong) on the south side of the large building in the center of the triangular Wallrun-Nutting-Druinwood block. It can be found easily by the smell, however, and many folk brave the spilled blood, fearsome cleavers, and thick smoke of the smoke-rooms to buy the flavorful wares of Breon Malaver. Breon's a cadaverously-thin butcher of few and sour words, and there are the inevitable rumors of his chopping up corpses for fees. These are probably the result of his interest in monster-butchering (he's one of the few folk in Silverymoon I've found who'll be eager to carve up anything scaly and long-jawed that's bigger than three men, if I bring such a morsel to him in a rented cart) -- oh, and because of the ghost, of course. Malaver's smokehouse is haunted by the apparition of a flying, talking severed head. From time to time it fades into view and lunges menacingly at visitors, speaking what might be gibberish and might not (some sages pay to be allowed to come and listen to it, from time to time) in Loross and Thorass. It trails long hair, appears to have belonged in life to a half-elven female, and seems to be enraged at the very sight of human women in armor, or visibly bearing swords. Malaver ignores this phantom, but it's scared away all the staff he's ever hired (he lives alone). However, Malaver's sausages and smokefish are of the best, but cheaply priced (the former are 2 sp for large links and 1 sp for small, and the latter are 1 cp/fillet). I live on them when in town without time to spare to shoulder my way into Swordsfall -- unless, of course, someone else is buying my feast, in brighter streets than those of Hollowhar. Ed's Notes 1 Some expensive-to-my-larder discussions with Elminster lead me to believe that parmesan cheese is our closest equivalent 2 A casserole that comes with a lid. 3 That'd be about an hour at 350 degrees Fahrenheit . . . and have a care for your arteries! Tamabril's Fordorn 'Tis not hard to find this busy place; just look for all the locals tramping back and forth from it, and the trodden leaves underfoot. The northernmost balcony shop of the first building on the west side of Nutting Lane south of the Druinwood waymoot houses Tamabril's food-shop. Low-Res Version (103k) | Hi-Res Version (823k) Time for a little Silverymoon history again. Alasamber Druin was a long-ago carver, hence "Druinwood," and Nutting Lane got its name from all the nut-sellers whose shops once lined it. They bought, graded, and bagged (in hempen sacks) nuts gathered by freelance foragers in the forests to the north (something now done out-of-town; now we just get to buy the filled, sewn-up sacks). Falmar Fordorn was a local legend: a fat, jovial, kindly greengrocer who ran the first mixed-food shop in the city that catered to all folk, but tried to offer fresh foodstuffs as well as pickled, smoked, and salted provender from afar. His name has come down to us as the general Silvaeren term for shops that sell fresh greens among other foodstuffs, and Tamabril's, though quite typical of a neighborhood "local," is (for my tongue-taste, anyway) one of the best. Valtha Tamabril is a slender, dark little woman who's probably quite beautiful but doesn't want the world to know it; she wears old rags and mud from her wares across her face, and pulls her hair all wild through a leather nape-sleeve and then lets it trail into everything. Yet she's cheerful enough and likes to talk -- gods above, how she likes to talk! Don't tell her anything you don't want all Hollowhar -- and every passing hungry buyer, too -- to know! (Some feed her lies deliberately, because she certainly sends the rumors flying through the city as if they had wings.) Valtha likes to haggle, but 'tis seldom you'll pay more than 2 sp for anything in her shop (and those'll be her cheeses, at that price; her greens are half that). Year-round she sells powdered herbs, teas from afar, pickles, jams, and cheeses (usually by the handwheel), and in summer and fall Tamabril's will be crowded with fresh vegetables: parsnips, radishes, lothleaf, 1 selpurt,2 river cress, and wosrel.3 Vrelda's Every neighborhood has its festhalls, and Hollowhar, it seems, can just barely afford one. Vrelda's is a festhal of sorts -- not a drinks-house with dancing and bouncers and flesh of unbelievable beauty on display amid gems and furs, mind, but a discreet, cozy, slightly shabby place that offers gentle companions for the lonely. The women and men here are closer to friends who'll rub feet, pour tea, soothe, and listen to tales of woe and bragging and bitching from men and women who come out of the backlands with too few coins and too much loneliness. I like Vrelda's and have happily spent too many evenings to count sipping strange cherry teas in its front room, losing a few coins at cards with the lasses. Fat old Vrelda, who scarce came up past my waist, is long dead. The mistress of the house now is "Legs" Larivarra (so-called because she's missing one and stumps around on a wooden replacement). She's as shapely a moon elf as mens' dreams can concoct but can curse like a sailor and outdrink any four warriors I know. I've never known her last name, but I gather her family is noble or some such, perhaps from Evereska way -- and she wants as little to do with them as they do with her. Larivarra's nine aging lasses are all human females, but in sizes, shapes, and origins that vary right across the board. They're more apt to be seen trudging around in fluffy soft-boots and old thick gowns than silks -- but then, they look as good in bright sunlight as they do by candlelight, and that's a lot more than some night-lasses can claim. She's a few male companions, too, who are just as relaxing and good a companion to those who stop by as the women are. Vrelda's also serves as a message drop: Leave a written missive for someone and a copper coin, and Larivarra will guarantee you two things: Unless Vrelda's burns down, that message will be discreetly delivered to the right someone if they ever drop by or show their face anywhere in Hollowhar (where a lantern lass can see it, that is), and that the chosen recipient's eyes will be the only ones to have read it, when it comes into their hands. Vrelda's stands on the north side of Lavarpard Street; 'tis the second building west of the Nutting-Lavarpard waymoot. It has discreet entrances on the north, south, and west sides of the building. The precipitous staircase on the east side leads straight up to the roof and hasn't been safe for some years; the strange little cages on some of its steps are dove-traps, that can be drawn in through nearby windows on strings when they've caught a bird. One of Vrelda's lasses (Marissra by name) loves to cook downdove pie. The Hawkroost The large building on the east side of Nutting Lane at its northern mouth, facing the Westwatch and Bow Gate, is "the Roost," a modest rooming-house for folk with more wisdom than coins (that is: the poor). A popular place, the Hawkroost is apt to fill up by highsun on most days, though late arrivals can buy a blanket and a spot on the roof for 1 cp. Here you can rent rooms by the half-day (1 sp), the night (2 sp), the fourday (4 sp), the tenday (9 sp), or the twelveday (1 gp). Your coins buy you a small, fairly clean room with a bed (rope and straw-tick mattress, overblanket and two linen sheets), a jug of drinking water and another of mintwater washing-water, and a chamberpot. A chair is 1 cp/day extra, laundry services are 1 cp/garment more (done next morning), and every room is equipped with a door-bar to keep stealthy night visitors out. (The Roost's ill-tempered menagerie of cats takes care of smaller, four-legged rodents.) Baths (in the cellar cistern, with handflake soap, a frightful scrub-brush, and two towels to dry off with; if someone else of any race or gender wants to wash at the same time, you must share, and the cistern can comfortably hold six) are 5 sp/person. You can often tell the truly poor or backlands folk from the merely coin-careful at a bath: the really needy are the ones bathing in their clothes and spending more time washing them than their own bodies. The Roost is run by Merymys Dracobard, a fat but once stunningly beautiful woman of high station who set aside all the fripperies of fashion and high etiquette (fled from unhappy arranged matches in Athkatla or Myratma or Baldur's Gate, the tales say), and now firmly mothers an everchanging staff of a dozen or so half-starved boys (usually runaways who came to the big, bright city in search of fame and fortune, and found starvation and vigilant Rods instead) who tend the place. They can sometimes be hired by the day for "away work," but Merymys frowns on illicit or dangerous tasks, and will report those who hire her boys "into danger" to the Rods. Merymys (her name's pronounced "Merry-MEEZ," by the way) offers literally bread and water to guests (the former is of her own making -- handloaves of passable black bread -- and goes for 2 cp/loaf), and no amenities. "Want foot-washing and music and honeyed words? Go elsewhere," she says often. Hollowhar rumors insist that a secret room in or under the cellar of the Roost contains dozens of petrified adventurers (or, some tales say, monsters) stored for some dark future event, but the tales never agree on just what that purpose is, or what part Merymys Dracobard is playing in this secretive storage. She isn't saying, but asking her about it will get you the spying eyes of some Rods for a few days, let me warn you. As to Merymys' origins, I know nothing, and ask less, but there is more to her than an aging and overweight woman fled from somewhere else. That much I'll swear. Delvara Moondark, Procurements The end shop-balcony on the east side of Druinwood (at its northernmost mouth, where it meets the Wallrun) seems at first glance a dust-covered cavern crowded with secondhand curios. A forest of ceiling-hooks bears more cobwebbed wares overhead than the layers-deep tables or the reduced-to-snakelike-ribbons aisles. Be warned that a very protective tressym lurks watchfully amid all the clutter, ready to pounce on would-be thieves. Most of what fills the shop has lain more or less undisturbed there for seasons on end, because the lady master whose name adorns this establishment makes most of her coins by "getting out and getting things." Delvara is a little, dark-eyed slip of a thing, all boneless acrobatic agility, leather breeches and boots, and flowing-sleeved, distractingly open-fronted bravo's shirts. Short hair, large earrings, pert manner, adept at hurling daggers; that sort. She's an enterprising sorcerer and sometime thief, who for fees will procure all sorts of goods from the shops of others in Silverymoon. She doesn't steal them, mind, she fetches them so you won't have to go searching if you're an outlander or too lazy or high-nosed, or just in a tearing hurry. Delvara doesn't deal in gems or magic of any kind, but the last time I talked over tankards with her, she'd fetched (in the five preceding days): an artificial limb, two grappling hooks, several coils of rope and one of black waxed cord, three leghold traps, a pair of gauntlets of a particular size and finish, and a blank spellbook. Clients pay the retail cost of a fetched item plus her delivery fee (typically 12 to 20 gp to those in haste or whom she knows to be wealthy, and 3 or 5 gp to commoners like me). Those who try to cheat her will discover that she has more than her knives, spells, and tressym to protect her: She's quite cozy, if you take my meaning, with some very powerful and highly-ranked Spellguard mages. Hablar the Hawk This cluttered studio of fading parchment and jars of inks fills the balcony of the second building south from the city wall along the east side of Druinwood. Seek you the jutting signboard of the hawk's head turned to the dexter to fix you with one dark, staring, gold-rimmed eye as you approach. Inside dwells and works Hablar the Hawk. This birdlike, balding little man was mockingly nicknamed "the Hawk" in his youth, I'm told, and eventually embraced the name proudly. He comes from the Aumtruskan family of Silverymoon, an oldblood clan long known as tapestry weavers (three younger brothers and a sister all have shops in more glittering parts of the city), but disappointed his sire by turning his back on the family trade for the then-less-desirable pursuit of painting portraits. These days the Gem of the North is known for housing dozens of flamboyant, eccentric folk who'll paint you grand, expensive, and flattering portraits that can make a high lady who looks in life like a bristle-jowled hound into someone of (at the least) serene grandeur, and suchlike; they of course dwell in better districts than Hollowhar. Hablar is more useful to the great run of folk, though -- not just because his prices are lower (typically 25 gp to half that), but because his swift sketches accurately capture likenesses in a very true-to-life manner, and because he can work from memory, after only a fleeting glance. Show him a man passing on the street, and he can in the space of a short song hand you back a portrait that you can give to someone who's never seen the real person, and they can use it to track that right person down. Moreover, although the Hawk absolutely refuses to copy the work of other artists ("forgery" he terms it, scornfully), he'll happily (for full fees, of course) duplicate his own work speedily and precisely -- so you can hand a dozen bounty hunters the exact likeness of one quarry. An End To It And that's my Silverymoon. Oh, I've been in the Palace a time or two, and can spout more if you've the price of a tankard of blackroot, but I'm dry of words for now. Soon enough I'll have heard my fill of songs, kissed enough waiting lips, and drained tankards a-plenty -- and be back out Bow Gate into the waiting wilds. Chesmyr Morrowynd. Remember that name, if harpstrings you're after. I'm the scar-cheeked man with the raven-black hair, the wrinkles, and the nut-brown skin. I walk with a bit of a limp but I'm as silent as a dead mouse -- and I'm the man they still tell tales of, who got in through a watch of six Spellguard mages and kissed Alustriel in her bath one Midsummer Night. I left her laughing and got out alive, and that's more than some can claim. See you across the fire at my next wyvern-kill, if you're bolder than you look. Ed's Notes 1 A thick, endive-like lettuce-leaf plant, with dark green, jagged leaves. 2 Something between bok choy and celery. 3 As near as I can make out from Elminster, who's no fan of them, these are fleshy edible tubers, something like Jerusalem artichokes, that grow along the banks of coldwater northern rivers and are easily found by their small but distinctive blue, long-stalked flowers; they're pronounced "woz-rel," by the way. 1. No official wards or districts, but local citizens speak of various 'neighborhoods.' The Market clearly divides the eastern end of the city (which contains the Palace and some important civic buildings) from the remainder, and the river of course divides Northbank from Southbank. 2. Within the 'old city proper' (Northbank west of the Market), the stretch between the remnants of the old city wall and the river is the oldest part of the city, and buildings here tend to be smaller, less fanciful, and more fortified. Otherwise, there isn't a lot of visual difference in architecture that lets a traveller know at a glance what part of the city he's in. Yes, there are a lot of buildings with fieldstone street levels and half-timbered upperworks. 3. Striking sights depends on where a visitor goes: there are exquisite gates and miniature garden waterfalls and other beautifully-crafted things EVERYWHERE, and everyone's tastes are different. Myself, I'd like to visit Alustriel's room-sized pool when it's in enthusiastic use, and see one of the 'dancing floors' by moonlight (courtyards throughout Northbank where spells allow dancers to levitate, 'dancing' on air). 4. No, flooding and the resulting laws and drainage system and protective spells have all made underground cellars as small as the buildings above them, and prevented much in the way of passages EXCEPT well-guarded and -warded ones in the part of the city east of the Market. Most dwarves live in homes 'dug into hillsides' (said hills being artificial, and often the gardens of someone else's abode, next door), or in normal aboveground structures -- but in both cases, the interiors are of carved stone, and often made to look cavern-like. 5. Many nobles from elsewhere visit Silverymoon, but its past history of abuses by those in power has aided Alustriel in making sure that there are no true nobles or ruling merchants or merchant families. The wealth, personal powers, and widely varying backgrounds of the traders, crafters, and artists attracted to Silverymoon also works against families or even stable cliques holding power. There are moves to set up shadowy trading cabals, but there are a LOT of Harpers in the city, and they watch for such things and try to thwart them (usually by sewing suspicions within said cabals, until they break apart from within). They also make VERY sure that any guilds that form are guilds in name only, and have no true power to set prices or control supplies of goods or the behaviour of their members. 6. Yes, Silverymoon is made up mostly of free citizens, crafters being the most numerous and artists (musicians, singers, dancers, actors, students of magic) the next most numerous, with shop-owners and repairers being the next two most numerous groups (before Alustriel, crafters and artists were far less numerous and important). In Silverymoon, everyone wears weathercloaks (solid, dark hues preferred, usually greens, dark blues, and browns) against the morning and evening river-mists and damp weather, and has heavy fur outergarments for winter. Most folk go about booted up to the knee, and with to-the-elbow gloves. Underneath, they wear whatever they want to, usually whatever they wore where they came from. Silverymoon is a riot of different forms of dress, not conformist: i.e. there's a high degree of tolerance for partial nudity or hairstyles and dress far different from 'your own,' and only a small strata of folk care about 'following fashion.' 7. Priests in Silverymoon dress as everyone else does: their usual vestments or approved garb underneath weathercloaks or winter furs, high boots, and those big gloves. 8. Silverymoon's from-everywhere-in-Faerun populace has brought their various cuisines with them, and the result is a cosmopolitan mixing of dishes from here and there, drink ditto. Food and drink. You can get almost anything. Local fare includes moose, bear (a strong-tasting meat usually served smoked), the various fish of the river, and deer. 9. Coinage from all over the Sword Coast is circulated and accepted in Silverymoon. For details of its local coinage, I'm afraid, you'll have to wait. The Market opens everyday with an 'outer ring' of stalls manned by visiting merchants, and whenever trappers, hunters, and farmers come in with 'raws' to sell (pelts, or dead or captured-live animals, or livestock, butter, cheese, eggs, and vegetables), they go to the Market and use the waiting pens and tables there. Local citizens sometimes peddle small wares (especially hot food and drink) in the Market, but usually sell from their homes or shops, or by arrangement in the shops of others. 10. Adventurers, like everyone else, are tolerated as long as they don't like to drink and then fight or smash things or engage in open butchery. In winter, they'll often get offered (hirers coming to them personally by word of mouth, or visiting the inns and taverns, or posting 'wants' in the Market) missions as armed escorts for persons who MUST travel, or supply caravans. Merchants are almost always the clients adventurers'll be working for. City authorities will offer pay to adventurers willing to stay and fight (under orders) if the city is threatened by orc hordes or other attacks, but otherwise won't hire adventurers. And yes, there are Harper "bases" or "safehouses" in the city. :} 11. If there's warning of an orc raid, some folk will be offered a chance to leave (sledging along the river ice, etc.) but warned that once escorted to a certain point, they're on their own. Yes, there are both 'must bear arms' laws and detailed defense plans. The gates are to be blocked by cartloads of stone rubble dumped on their insides, and the walls manned. The fallback is to certain fortified buildings east of the Market, and ultimately to the granary, armory, and defensible living-quarters caverns beneath that part of the city. 12. The University is an integral part of everday life, with little 'town and gown' friction. Students are obliged to help with one inquiry from a visitor to the city or a local citizen, per day. Outsiders can only use the library with student guides AND payment of fees (depending on what they're asking, either something simple or something requiring a lot of research). Students do everything they need to, to pay for their fees and lodgings, from working as crafters' assistants to dancing nude in festhalls (most work stocking shelves in shops, as musicians and table staff in taverns, or as cleaners in inns). The University sells nothing but single-page-copying services (from books in its own library, and only pages NOT bearing spells or magical instructions or processes) but quietly sells a trickle of scrolls, potions, spell components to city shops, who resell them at a markup. Military The armies of Silverymoon have changed in name and organization many times over the years, both as a result of plagues (1150 DR) and various orc hordes, and at the whim of many early Warlords of the city. They changed again after Alustriel became High Mage of the city. Silverymoon still has a militia, and a Sword-of-Coins (officer who hires mercenary bands for particular missions, such as “scour out that trollhold,” and “drive out any orcs you find betwixt XX and YY on this map”). The Knights in Silver are Silverymoon’s professional standing army of very well armed, trained, and armored mounted cavalry, and are the backbone of the standing military. The ‘Knights in Silver’ name was adopted circa 1349 DR, from a line in the lyrics of a popular-across-the-Sword-Coast-North ballad by the bard Mintiper Moonsilver (before that time, the heavy cavalry of Silverymoon’s paid soldiery was known as ‘the Silvershields,’ and had no formal name at all; both they and their motley fellow warriors (see below) were ‘Soldiers of Silverymoon’ in ‘the Army of Silverymoon.’ The Spellguard (founded in 1255 DR) and the High Guard (palace guards, who also serve as bodyguards for Alustriel, Taern, all city officers, and visiting VIPs) were and are separate units, and so is Silverymoon’s city watch. What has ‘melted away’ over the years (mainly due to combat losses not being replaced) are the outside-the-walls-patrol and training units known as ‘the Steelshields.’ These motley warriors (I describe them as that because of their widely varying weaponry and armor, not as any aspersion on their discipline or quality as a fighting force) dwindled in numbers, until they were quietly folded into the Knights in Silver. So the Knights now serve to patrol the lands around the city (in all directions, at least a three-day-ride out from the walls), and to escort important travellers, garrison encamped visitors and caravans, serve in the Argent Legion on Silverymoon’s behalf, and be ready to sally forth as a strike force against raiding bands of brigands, orcs, trolls, hobgoblins, and suchlike. The Argent Legion officially came into being in 1371 DR (as reported in THE SILVER MARCHES sourcebook, which also details the Knights in Silver and the Spellguard), when the League of the Silver Marches was proclaimed. Guards Silverymoon is patrolled by groups of six or more (8 is the norm). These will be armed, physically agile adult persons of both genders, usually human or half-elven, and will consist of Warders (longtime local residents paid to go on watch-patrols) led by one or two Knights In Silver, and assisted by a lone Ardent Legion member. They act as police, pouncing on miscreants. Justice is served by magisters of the city, who are either longtime resident sages (just a few of these, and very elderly) or members of the Spellguard. Citizens of Silverymoon are entitled to have two justices hear their cases, and may choose the station of one of them (in other words, they can request Alustriel or Taern, but may end up with any senior courtier instead -- or they can request a High Guard member, or "someone not a member of the Spellguard"). The other magister is chosen, ultimately, by Taern, and will always be someone able to cast spells, because magic is often used in Silverymoon to help determine guilt. Whenever possible, a priest of the faith of an accused is asked to participate, and most accused, either citizens or visitors, demand that Alustriel try them personally (sometimes, even for visitors who lack the right to choose anyone, she will do so). The fine for breakage of wares would typically be their replacement value, plus much and only as much as this applies up to half that amount again for lost sales due to having no stock and the time spent cleaning up and in court proceedings (the merchant suffering losses will have to testify, if not too injured to do so). This fine is paid to the merchant "under the eye of the court," not retained by the city. Wards Wards that keep the temperature comfortably high (avoiding ice but creating fog), and that can be "set" to repel falling snow like a giant dome - - so most of it will end up in/on the river, and be carried away. Usually a light snowfall is "allowed in" to wash down the streets, water plants, etc., but once more than an inch or two has fallen, the warming (and wind-slowing) wards are "tightened" by one of the mages serving the city to shed anything more falling from the sky. 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